I can’t slaughter a hen. In fact, I am the only person in my family that has no stomach to slaughter a hen. Okay, my sister can’t as well, but that’s understandable. Birds don’t kill birds, do they? Anyways, the whole process of slaughtering a hen freaks the feathers off me. It’s a birdy genocide. I can’t hold its neck, pluck off a few feathers, hold its head (he he) and chop off its esophagus/neck with a blunt knife while mumbling a short prayer and swallowing saliva. Then it shakes helplessly, trying to get hold of life, splashing blood all over my face. Its wings shake strongly as it tries to slip through my hands to bolt away naked like a witch.
I am told a hen/cock can run away headless and then the head will come back, at night, looking for your head. That shit scares the wings out of me. After cutting its head, its neck oozing of blood, its head thrown away like a captive decapitated by ISIS extremists, it surrenders and opens its thighs for you to pluck away. I can’t. I rather develop a beak than kill a hen.
But I love it on my plate. I love those thighs, juicy as they are, cut from their knees and slapped on my plate for me to feast away. Finger-licking pieces of meat that tickles my taste buds. I love it when it’s hot and oily, when it’s burning my hands and tongue and I am swallowing sweet fire. I want to tear through its flesh like a carnivore, hold its wings and fly away with them. I hate the chest part; it’s boney and boring. Its cleavage is not a part I would fight for, but give me those thighs and wings. I hate the neck, too. It’s the most useless part; it’s a long, boney thing with little (or no) flesh at all, but you chew it like sugarcane and spit out the residual crushed bones. I love my chicken when it’s stewing hot on a sigiri, oozing of natural squirt and the aroma shooting into my nostrils.
I want to think chicken is the best meal ever discovered by humanity. Next in line is pork, but pork, sometimes, is overrated. Chicken is chicken. It’s delicious and tasty. And this Saturday, the day after Good Friday, there will be a chicken extravaganza of sort at Diva Gardens, Naalya. No, you won’t be slaughtering hens and getting blood splash allover yourself. No. It’s a cook-off. Fun shindig. Selfies are allowed. Kids will play. Sins (eating sins) will be committed. Jesus will then die for those sins and resurrect the next day. See the poster for details. Tell your hungry friends and family to come through. Don’t chicken out.